Standard Brat Protocol

Allie Heart keeps her chained in the chair. Leather bites into wrists and ankles, cold against her skin. Marisol Price circles, nails dragging across the blonde's ribs. Brat jerks, laughs too loud, swears under her breath. The chains rattle harder than her voice. Every stroke lands lower, sharper, until she’s squirming, tits bouncing against the taut leather straps. Marisol’s fingers trace the undersides, pressing into the flesh that spills over the top. Brat gasps, then bites down, trying to stay still. Allie doesn’t let her. The tickling gets cruel, fast, relentless. Her body twists, chains clinking, black hair sticking to her damp cheeks. She’s exposed, dripping with sweat, every flinch on display.